Legends of Windemere

West Park Asylum

Ian rests on the couch while the other members of his group remain in a circle, none of them remembering the events of last night. An empty chair sits with Dawn’s name on it, but she has not been seen all morning. In fact, the young woman is another subject that people appear to have forgotten. Not that her vanishing is the strangest change since the riot. Rich and Dr. Rutherford are in their usual positions around the circle and debating the existence of ghosts like they did every session. The only difference is that Gina is standing behind the doctor with two stun guns on her belt. She has told the other patients that it is to make sure everyone behaves, but her eyes rarely stray from the back of the blonde woman’s head.

Ian can sense that whatever Corvus is planning will happen any minute and he prefers to be the one closest to the door. Keeping one foot on the ground, he continues groaning and pretending to hold back vomiting. Sipping at a plastic cup of water, he does his best attempt at faking an illness in the hope of being sent to his room. The option never comes up and all he gains from the theatrics are angry glares from the others. By the time half of the session is over, he has given up on the ruse and tries his best to remain quiet. If he cannot be sent away then he will try his damnedest to be forgotten by his captors.

“I’m not saying magic is involved. Ghosts don’t always mean magic,” Rich states while wringing his camera strap. He curses under his breath when the man he is arguing with stares at him in confusion. “First of all, magic doesn’t exist. Unicorns, dragons, and all that rubbish are what half-wit fantasy authors use to sell books. Ghosts on the other hand can exist because they’re nothing more than the spirits of the dead. Those who are banned from the afterlife are forced to wander our world. Some get angry and lash out when they can, but we tend to not notice. That still isn’t magic though because it’s nothing more than our inner spark acting without a body. Why is this so hard to understand?”

“Because I still don’t see why it matters. Ghosts move things and are invisible like wizards, so they can both be magic,” the man says in a dry tone. When he sees the smirk of Gina’s face, he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “You’re always changing your story when it comes to these things. How about you admit that this all a push for attention? Right, Dr. Rutherford?”

“I believe it is more about passing one’s mental weaknesses off on an outside force that cannot be entirely disproved,” she replies without looking up. Her hand is constantly writing even though she has never turned the page. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett, but we’ve been having this discussion for months. It is about time you realize that your fixation on ghosts is a delusion caused by your own feeling of helplessness. Nothing ever seems to be in your control, so you blame invisible figures. We are unable to make you believe that the ghosts are in your head because you would need to listen first.”

“I listen all the time, but I know what I see,” Rich swears while clutching his camera. His eyes widen as if something is happening outside, so everyone turns only to see a pair of squirrels pilfering a bird’s nest. “Other people have experienced the ghosts here. They tell me stories when you and the orderlies aren’t listening. It’s impossible for multiple people to experience the same thing. Why do you only disagree with me?”

Dr. Rutherford rubs her eyes, which nearly knocks her glasses off her face. “Because the others don’t bring it up in their sessions, Mr. Garrett. You will not step away from this topic to discuss other aspects of your condition. That makes it difficult to help you and I’m coming to my wits end. I wonder how you will ever be found fit to leave here if you continue to be stubborn about your hallucinations.”

“I’m not supposed to be here!”

“Claiming such a thing is another hindrance to your recovery.”

“But I’m a reporter and you know it.”

“Please stop lying to yourself, Mr. Garrett.”

Gina leans forward and whispers into her boss’s ear, the brief contact enough to make the other woman stop writing. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? These people are fragile and we want to help them. Pushing them in the wrong direction puts the institution at risk. Not to mention yourself.”

“And you think you know more than me?” Dr. Rutherford asks with a laugh. The patients sit straight in their chairs and stare forward, each one focused on whoever is across the circle. “Need I remind you that you’re an orderly while I’m a doctor? You’re not even a senior member, Ms. Nash, since you arrived only weeks ago. Don’t let your taste of power go to your head because all of us are expendable behind these walls. I spent my life striving to reach this point and I’d rather die than let a whim be my downfall.”

“It’s a shame,” Gina says, taking a few steps away from the doctor. She removes the stun guns from her belt and turns them on, the prongs briefly sparking to life. “Corvus had hoped you’d assimilate to your new mentality. Though he didn’t try very hard, so I guess he left too much of the old you in there. Guess you get your wish, Grace.”

A sharp whistle causes Rich to foam at the mouth and lunge across the circle, his sudden movement scaring the other patients. He swings his camera as hard as he can and the device breaks against Dr. Rutherford’s head. The woman collapses to the floor where she is pounced on and pummeled by the enraged man. She pushes him off and tries to crawl away, but Rich jumps on her back and bashes her head in with the biggest chunk of his camera. The brutality of the attack causes the residents to panic and scream in terror, two of them leaping out the open window and racing toward the forest. By the time Gina presses both stun guns to the bald man’s neck and shocks him, her boss is only able to make a final gasping breath before dying. The orderly checks for a pulse on Rich’s neck and frowns at the gentle crinkling of his severely burned skin. The slightest pressure splits the flesh and she watches ivory-colored blood seep out of the wound.

“I didn’t know stun guns could do that,” Gina mutters as she rushes for the intercom. A few patients get in her way and she stuns all of them, using up the charges of both devices. “I need help in the group therapy session! One of the patients has killed Dr. Rutherford and the others are trying to escape. Send the guards and have more lock down the common room and cafeteria to make sure this doesn’t spread. I’ll do what I can to contain this.”

Gina drags the empty couch to block the door and sprints across the room to close the windows. She pauses and turns around to examine the room after getting the feeling that she is missing something. Not sure what has put her on edge, the orderly finishes sealing the room and grabs the nearest blunt object to defend herself. As soon as Gina lifts the raven-shaped paperweight, all of the patients turn toward her and their eyes glaze over as they close in on the woman.

West Park Asylum

“This is really bad,” Dr. Rutherford says as she curls against the wall. She kicks Rich away when he tries to touch her foot, the moaning figure barely aware of his surroundings. “I should have never agreed to help that man. All for the sake of progress and proving my theories were correct. Now I have one chance to live and it’s slim at best.”

Ian remains on his back and stares at the white-tiled ceiling, his body still aching from Gina’s attack. After a minute of not feeling better, he sits up and whimpers as all of his joints pop. His fellow prisoners pay no attention to him, so he takes his time taking in their sterile surroundings. The hallway is bright and pristine with a door every five feet, each one different than the other. Behind them is an empty wall, which forces them to travel into the unending distance. A stuffy breeze whips down the hall, making everyone sweat and gradually fogging their minds.

“How does this place work?” Ian asks while he crawls to a door. A faint giggle emanates from the wall when he reaches for the silver handle, causing him to pull away. “I have bad luck with doors. Are you going to work with me, Grace, or stay on the floor?”

“It’s easy to condemn people to this place and hope for the best. To be here and know that you have one chance to escape is another thing,” the woman rambles her eyes clenched shut. A scream bursts from her lips when Rich pushes her shoulder. “Get this broken thing away from me! Tell him to pick a door and see what happens. Each of us gets to choose an exit, so use the expendable one.”

“I’m not putting my friend in danger,” Ian states while grabbing Rich by the collar and pulling him away. Seeing the vapid look on the man’s face, he sighs in defeat and kneels. “I will put him out of his misery though. If you can hear me, Rich, I want you to pick a door. Whichever one you want, open it and go back home.”

A spark of understanding is in the bald man’s eyes and he hugs his camera as he looks around the hallway. Seeing a gem-encrusted door, Rich jogs to the gaudy entrance and knocks on the only space that is exposed wood. Nothing happens, so he grabs the handle and wiggles it to see if it is locked. Ian is a few steps away when his friend opens the door and a shimmering mist envelopes him. A crackle fills the air as the man’s body is transformed into fragile crystal, parts splintering when he turns to wave. The smile on Rich’s face is still there when he is changed completely and the door slams shut. With a rumble, the ceiling tiles slam down to smash the statue into powder.

“You see what happens?” Dr. Rutherford says, rolling onto all fours. She wipes tears from her eyes before facing the ceiling. “This isn’t fair, Corvus! I did so much for you and kept you alive. Nobody has helped you as much as me. How could you do this to me?”

“Because you became boring,” the ghostly voice of Corvus replies with a chuckle. “Please make a choice, Grace. We still have that riot to stop. If you choose the right door then you can return to your position. Remember that you can’t go back. We can only move forward.”

“But you give no clues and there are hundreds.”

“Actually, there are infinite doors.”

“How can I figure out which one is right? It could even be so far away that I’d die before reaching it.”

“I find it amusing that a woman who works with the minds of others has such a fragile one in her skull.”

“Give me a clue!”

“Very well. Look for the sign I despise.”

Dr. Rutherford scratches her head for a few minutes before she has an idea. Examining the doors around her, she curses when none of them match what she is looking for. She takes Ian by the wrist to guide him down the hallway, the young man resisting enough to free his arm. Not wanting to argue, the blonde woman hurries ahead and searches for the sign that she knows is the answer to the clue. Coming to a circular, wooden door, Dr. Rutherford grins at the wooden owl sitting at the top of the frame. Pushing up her glasses and adjusting her jacket, she finds the file that Corvus had given her and tears it in half.

“When I get back, I request that we fire Ms. Nash,” the doctor says, her hand reaching for the knob. “I’m the one who chooses the staff and I feel she is too high a risk. Her removal will be my reward for getting out of the hallway.”

Not hearing an answer, Dr. Rutherford slowly opens the door and tenses in preparation for an attack. She relaxes when nothing happens and she is faced with the moonlit forest. A rustling of feathers greets her when she tries to cross the threshold. Caws and shrieks erupt from the branches, driving her back into the hallway. The woman grabs the doorknob to pull it closed, but the bronze piece snaps off in her hands. A scream escapes her lips as a flock of ravens pour through the opening and whirl around her. Sharp beaks peck at her flesh and tear at her clothes while she backs against the far wall. For several minutes, it is impossible to see the doctor amid the hungry birds. When they return to the forest, there is only a skeleton with a pair of glasses slipping off its face.

“Owls may be a raven’s natural enemy, but I don’t despise them,” Corvus admits with a friendly chuckle. Vines slip from the circular opening to drag the body away, the door slamming behind them. “To be fair, she didn’t say she wanted a clue to escape. Then again, death is a type of escape. Have you figured out the answer yet or do you want a clue too?”

“I’m sure you knew what she meant and just wanted her dead,” Ian replies, bending down to touch the abandoned glasses. The lens crack and the frame crumples beneath his fingers as he thinks about the puzzle. “There’s the possibility that every door leads to death and the game is rigged. You seem pretty fond of playing dirty. On the other hand, there has to be a way out in case you fall into here.”

“Unless I simply have the power to make every door an exit,” the man counters, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I can sense that you don’t trust me. That means I can’t help you escape. Even if I tried, you’d never believe me. Always trapped in the past because it’s so much safer.”

“This coming from someone who hides in an asylum’s basement. You might live in the present, but the future terrifies both of us.”

“Intriguing thought. I’ll miss our chats. Pick a door.”

Ian turns around to walk back and examine the doors that he missed due to Dr. Rutherford pulling him along. None of them stand out and he wishes he could test them without getting killed. A plain door catches his attention and he considers opening it, but decides that it is too obvious an answer. Ian is surprised to find that it does not take him very long to return to his starting point. In fact, he is sure that several potential exits have disappeared while his back was turned. Slowly spinning in a circle, he is unable to find the gem-covered door that Rich had chosen. Sitting down and clearing his mind, Ian thinks over what Corvus has said and everything that has happened in Raven’s Hold.

“Nothing is ever what it seems here, is it?” he asks to nobody in particular. A balmy heat fills the hallway, forcing the young man to strip naked. “You want my thinking muddled because I’m onto something. People have made it out of here before, but you were the one who decided on it. Again, you refuse to play a game that you haven’t rigged. The question is if you’re letting me get the right answer or I outwitted you.”

“Test your luck and find out. I hate suspense.”

Ian walks to the white wall as his vision is blurred by the heat. “The future is infinite, but the past is solid. Both of us fear what’s ahead. Escaping means comfort and the only place to find it is in what’s already happened. Even if our memories are dark.”

The young man feels a knob in his hand when he reaches for the wall and he knocks to find it is hollow. Twisting the invisible metal, Ian opens the door into the hallway and feels a cool wind whip at his body. He waits for a minute before entering the darkness, the sounds of shouting greeting his ears. A flash of light temporarily blinds him, allowing the scenery to change without his notice. When he can see again, Ian finds himself in his room while the riot continues in the distance.

“As usual, you have given me much to think about, Mr. Connors,” Corvus asks with an edge to his silky voice. A boom shakes the building and transforms the night into day. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you. The game is losing its fun.”

West Park Asylum

The elevator doors open to the dimly light basement hallway, which Ian swiftly enters to finally escape the cascading sparks. He reaches out to one of the deep gouges in the faded yellow walls and wonders if a bear is loose. It would not be the strangest thing he has recently seen, so he grabs a metal rod from a battered trashcan. Ian stares at the thick network of pipes in the ceiling, noticing that several of the valves dripping rusty water onto the warped floor. The few exposed bulbs that are working are set above crisscrossing boards, the wood nailed to the dense concrete. Approaching one of the strange barriers, he can barely discern the outline of an old frame. Squinting into the distance, he can only see one exit and carefully avoids the puddles to reach the polished door. The handle turns and the hinges move without a sound, allowing Ian to sneak in without being noticed.

A maze of cages and containers cause him to freeze and let the metal rod slip from his loose grip. The crimson lightning makes him think of Hell, which is enhanced by the howling screams drifting from the upper levels of Raven’s Hold. Shadowy forms move behind the bars and extend frail hands toward the newcomer. The nearest container shudders as whatever is inside pounds on the side and weeps. Ian moves away when he sees a stream of tears flowing toward the grating under his feet. Strong fingers grab him by the shoulder and pull him against cold bars, the other hand coming around to cover his mouth. He struggles against the prisoner until his thrashing causes both arms to pop out of their sockets and fall to the floor. A mournful wail erupts from the decrepit woman and she repeatedly bangs her head on the cage while Ian quickly gets away.

Keeping away from the cages and ignoring the noises from the containers, the young man weaves toward the brightly lit part of the chamber. The occasional raised voice echoes throughout the basement, but is devoured by the din created by the prisoners. For a brief moment, Ian swears he smells fresh pizza and someone is talking with their mouth full. Catching a glimpse of the distant area, he sees the end of a leather couch and a woman’s hand nervously tapping on the arm. Curiosity and caution battling in his mind, Ian is stopped when a familiar noise draws his attention to a small cage to his right.

The repetitive click of a camera forces him to get closer to the bars and his gloom-adjusted eyes make out the form of Rich. He can see that the bald man is becoming emaciated even though he has not been away for very long. The vacant look on his friend’s face remains unbroken even when Ian reaches over to tap his shoulder. A weak moan slips from Rich’s mouth as he continues clicking his camera, which is missing the strap and lens. With a stuttering sigh, the man leans forward to gnaw on the device and pays no attention to his departing friend.

Ian crawls under a cage with wheels to get a safe look at the source of the voices. He is not surprised to see Dr. Rutherford, the blonde woman sitting on the couch and glaring at her companions. She keeps a stern glare aimed at Dawn who is joyfully eating pizza and dancing to music that only she can hear. The brunette occasionally stops to throw uneaten crust at the doctor and unleash a flood of curses.

“As the person whose name is on the paperwork, I have every right to bring in any person I feel will benefit us,” Dr. Rutherford says, wiping some sauce off her cheek. She fixes her glasses and removes a piece of drool-covered crust from her lap. “Mr. Connors was perfect in the role of a low risk patient. His presence could have kept others at bay and a successful treatment would have cemented our declaration that we help others. Our more recent residents have all shown signs of being doubtful. Mr. Connors was part of the plan to keep us going and you ruined him, Ms. Addison.”

“I made him more fun, but I can’t take all of the credit,” Dawn replies while stripping out of her clothes. She bounds over to a closet to pull out a pair of crimson jeans and a black top, the garments fitting perfectly. “Besides, this lesson has nothing to do with him. I’ve gotten over you bringing him in without talking to me first. My issue is with Ginla . . . Cana . . . the sister. That’s a stupid move because, unlike the little puppy, people will look for her. You’re the one who put our home in danger.”

“I had nothing to do with her.”

“Then why is she here, Grace?”

“Because I wanted her here,” announces a deep, male voice.

Stepping out of a patch of shadows, a black-haired man joins the two women and finishes drying off from his shower. His slender body shows several scars that shift until they are where he feels like placing them. The stranger knows his mood will change his decision before too long, so he ignores the markings and wraps himself in a thick robe of feathers. Taking a seat next to Dr. Rutherford, he pats his lap and braces himself for Dawn to land on him. He kisses her deeply while his yellow eyes scan the area, the vibrant orbs pausing briefly on where Ian is hiding.

“Both of you must remember that this is my home,” the man calmly states while running a hand through Dawn’s hair. He hands a thick file over to the doctor, who quietly flips through the pages. “I appreciate all that you two do for me, but you’re not irreplaceable. My whims are what keep you here and possibly alive just as they do for the mice above. If I wish to do something new without your permission then that is my choice.”

“I understand that, sweetie, but I don’t like being in the dark,” Dawn coos, nipping at the man’s neck. A playful bite draws blood, which she quietly wipes up with a napkin. “This whole thing makes me feel like I’m being punished. I figured out a way to have fun with the little puppy even though I wouldn’t have chosen him. We don’t really send people home, Grace, so why bother faking it?”

“It’s all about keeping up appearances, Ms. Addison,” the doctor replies without looking away from the file on Ms. Nash. She smacks the man’s hand away when it creeps toward her shoulder. “There will be none of that. We’ve had this discussion before, Corvus. I’m here to help you and not be one of your broken playthings. That’s why I brought you Ms. Addison. Is she losing her luster?”

“I will eat your tongue in your sleep,” the brunette threatens with a territorial growl.

Corvus gently eases the woman off his lap and gets himself a beer from a cooler. “Please behave yourselves. I’m tired from having so much fun with the residents. It’s been so long since I’ve had a riot to interact with. Makes me feel alive and free instead of locked down here. Now, I believe you two are visiting to discuss Carla and Gina Nash. A beautiful creation, isn’t she? I erased her past life and replaced it with memories from that orderly with the head wound. There was nothing wrong with that one, but I wanted to fiddle. By the way, Grace, I need you to have one of our people dispose of the husk before it starts smelling.”

“I’ll put it in the usual place, but I hope you will answer a question for me,” the doctor replies, jotting down a few notes in the folder. She tucks it into her coat and reaches for a glass of wine. “Raven’s Hold is impossible to find unless invited. How did Mrs. Nash get here?”

“As you’ve guessed, I brought her here and that took considerable energy. Manipulating others from so far away is not something I do very often,” the man states while putting an arm around Dawn’s waist. “I do apologize for causing you trouble, but I was getting bored. Well I did agree to you bringing in Mr. Connors, I found him too boring for my interest. Like my love, I needed to turn him into my toy. That required some prodding and breaking, which required the sister. It really isn’t that hard to figure out.”

“What do we do with her now?” Dawn asks, licking some beer off Corvus’s lips. She sighs when he sits her in a chair, but her mood improves when a burger appears in her lap. “I say we turn her into a patient. No reason to hide it either. The riot can be the cause of her having a breakdown. What do you think, sweetie?”

“Possibly, but I want to use her for a few more things. One of which is rather immediate.”

Ian feels a chill run up his spine and backs out from under the cage, his eyes focused on the grinning man. Before the nervous patient can stand, he hears a stun gun go off and a jolt of pain strikes him in the back. Shuddering on the floor, he can barely make out Gina looming above him. When he tries to talk, she zaps him again and rolls him onto his back. By the time the cages and containers part to let Corvus approach, the orderly has Ian pinned to the ground.

“This one has certainly been an oddity,” the black-haired man says while removing a feather from his robe. “He’s been on the verge of belief since his first day, but he routinely stops himself. One more step is all he needs and we almost had him until Dawn threw a tantrum. I have to say that people have been truly disappointing me lately.”

“I’m sorry, but you should have talked me about it,” the brunette states while poking at a crying prisoner. She plucks a flower that sprouts from the woman’s hair and tucks it into shirt collar. “We can still push him if you want. It isn’t too late, sweetie. Don’t send me away because I was being cute.”

“I wouldn’t dream of losing you, my love,” Corvus declares in shock. Stepping away from the smiling woman, he puts his hands on Gina’s shoulders and runs his fingers along her tense arms. “Changes in faculty must be done. Someone has to pay for losing control. Perhaps you’re right that she has to go and Mr. Connors deserves a chance at redemption.”

“What about the hallway?” Dr. Rutherford suggests as she joins the others. Noticing Ian, she kneels in front of him and checks his pulse. “It was designed to give failed patients a slim chance of returning to the fold. It could be used for staff too. Give me some time to make a list of who is important and who is expendable.”

The clicking of Rich’s camera causes Corvus to twitch, so he stretches his arm to harmlessly pull the man through the bars. Callously tossing the wiggling patient next to Ian, he pushes Gina forward and gestures for her to examine both men. A wicked grin is on his face while Dawn dances around the cage. Dr. Rutherford catches the expression and moves to Corvus, who puts a friendly hand on her shoulder. Gina and the patients remain unaware of the silent understanding between their companions.

“It was a fun game, but it’s time for some people to leave the board,” Corvus announces with a stomp of his foot. Ian and Rich fall through trapdoors, leaving Gina kneeling on the edge of an abyss. “I hate losing my toys.”

“I’ll get you more,” Dr. Rutherford promises while adjusting her glasses. The grip on her shoulder gets tighter and she grunts in pain. “I will get to work on it right away.”

“No. You won’t, Grace. Good-bye, old friend.”

Another stomp of Corvus’s foot opens a hole beneath the doctor’s feet and she plummets into the darkness. Wiping his hands clean, the man lifts Dawn into his arms and whistles for Gina to join them at the couch. A large television is already rising from the floor and speakers are flipping lowering from the ceiling. Flickering to life, the screen reveals a hallway and three fuzzy forms sprawled on the floor.